


wrap the night around your shoulders

by tsunderestorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Forbidden Love, M/M, Minor Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Mythology References, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Hades comes to collect his Persephone.





	wrap the night around your shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> _Seven times I went down  
>  Six times I walked back  
> I don’t fear the dark anymore  
> Because I’ve become all that_

Ardyn arrives to collect Noctis at the stroke of midnight sharp on the autumn equinox, his husband of the dark, profane as he is. He is a victor come to claim his spoils, drunk on the power of the promise, the supple little trophy he gets to display on his arm.

Oh, and what a pretty trophy Noctis is: a sweet little tease laying back in bed with the husband he shares his springs and summers with, dressed in a tee and boxer briefs against the oppressive heat of Insomnia’s summer. Looking languid and positively _luscious_ as he lies back, his eyes trace Ardyn up and down as he strides uninvited up to their marriage bed. One might call his expression _hateful_ but Ardyn knows better, knows those pouting lips are capable of the prettiest sounds when only daemons can hear, knows the veil of anger over those stormy eyes is naught but a facade he adopts rather than admit how much he craves Ardyn’s tainted touch.

The man with the honey-colored hair and the spring-bloom eyes regards him acidly, resentful as ever of his kingly husband’s would-be captor, his unwanted _duty._ (Ardyn wants to laugh at the word, the sheer ludicrousness of the sentiment - Noctis may long for the nurturing arms of his beloved Ignis when he’s in the other world with him, but nothing has been _forced_ about their fated arrangement for _years_.

Ardyn loves that, claims it as his own personal victory. The Astrals’ apology, their atonement of sending the _true_ Chosen into the arms, the _bed_ of his predecessor was truly the best gift he could have received and he revels in it.

Sometimes he feels downright drunk on it, a heady draught indeed: the _power_ he has. All it had taken was the dissolution of his humanity, all he’d had to suffer were millennia spent with daemons burrowing beneath his skin, the scourge that spread across his body: sickly black like an oil spill, killing every ounce of purity in its path. All the agony, all of his years of plotting revenge had been negated with a gift of one pretty little brat.

“It’s fall,” Ardyn whispers as Noctis rises from his marriage bed and his fingers skate like spiders down his bare arms. His breath smells nauseating, sweetly of daemon rot as it tickles warm against his ear. “That means you, little king, are mine now.”

Noctis is always _his_ , or at least that’s how Ardyn makes it feel. Even in the warmth of August when the nights are short and stifling hot he belongs to the first chosen and first fallen, even when the constellations of summer are high above his head his body can’t forget the feel of Ardyn’s: too-hot against his own in the icy chill of eternal night.

—

“Go on,” he urges, pumping up into Noctis with an intensity that makes him shudder, fingers holding his chin so he has to look at him, bruises blooming on his olive skin. “Let it overcome you. You are _mine,_ drink it in. _Remember.”_

It feels dirty to let himself be lifted around Ardyn’s waist in the entryway of the _other_ Citadel, though he supposes it’s a moot point. Ardyn is always like this when he first takes him back, all possessive and primal, fingers like claws digging into his hips, his ass, down his arms and back, making patterns of scratches like wings enveloping him. Always eager to _own him_.

There are no beings here but daemons, teeming outside the Citadel walls and watching him with too many eyes. Climbing, scratching, shrieking like banshees as the Accursed claims the Chosen once more, as their unholy matrimony is finalized again. And again, and _again_ , making Noctis close his eyes under the onslaught of forbidden pleasure so he doesn’t have to see Ardyn leering at him, teeth too-white and daemon-sharp behind his lips when he smiles.

Noctis feels lightheaded when he’s impaled on Ardyn’s accursed cock, when he has his thighs clutched desperately around Ardyn’s sculpted hips as he’s filled to bursting on the impossible thickness of him. He remembers when they consummated their marriage, when Ardyn fucked him half-senseless and threw his head to the heavens and laughed _thank you_ and Noctis wished he was anywhere but there. He remembers when it was a _chore_ to go to bed with Ardyn, when he dreaded the moment his gaze would focus on him and he’d tell him _come, husband_ , and now he’s bouncing on his cock in the hallways, the throne room, anywhere and everywhere Ardyn wants him, like a plaything. Now it’s _good_. Now he _loves_ it.

(He shouldn’t, he knows. This compromise, this half life - he isn’t supposed to like it. He is a sacrificial lamb, destined not to die but to lie back and think of _duty_ and _light_ as the last bastion of defense against an impending night, but every fall when Ardyn’s hands fit back in the hollows of his hips he loves it more and more.)

He’s at war: the conscious desire to do the right thing fighting with the sympathy he feels for Ardyn, tearing him apart the way his daemon husband’s cock is nearly splitting him in two as he sinks down on it. It burns, searing hot inside of him as it stretches him wide, fills him to bursting and he begs _more, more,_ screams Ardyn’s name into the dark expanse of their Citadel’s vaulted ceilings.

“The darkness, it’s like a blanket. It’s comforting, pet, isn’t it?” Ardyn drawls as he grabs greedy handfuls of Noctis’ ass, spreading him wider still as his fingers stroke the place where they’re connected, trace around his slick, stretched rim to make him shudder. “ _Noctis_. Darling, you are the light of the night. The night is meant to be _dark_ , to hide the lovers in their trysts, to be filled with _passion_.”

It’s going to swallow him whole. Encompass him, envelop him the way Ardyn’s big hand covers his meager cock, the way the man’s statuesque body looms against his. Worst of all, he _wants_ it to swallow him, wants to be the king of the darkness that Ardyn craves to mold him into, wants to sit atop a king atop a throne in this place made only for them, this _other_ Citadel of darkness and daemons. The sun doesn’t shine here, no light that isn’t candles illuminates their bedroom of sin. No moonlight bathes his skin in a pale glow, brings the bruises and bites Ardyn litters his skin with to light.

Noctis pants, meeting Ardyn’s movements with his own, rising and falling, working himself on his dick as Ardyn holds him. He’s missed this, _gods_ he’s missed this and he meets every one of Ardyn’s passionate kisses with a flurry of tongue and teeth, every punishing drag of Ardyn’s fingers down his chest met with fingernails on his shoulders, his back, marking him up the same way Ardyn is obsessed with marking him.

“Yes, just like that…die that little death for me, love.” Ardyn croons as he drags the orgasm out of him, leaving Noctis shuddering and shaking, crying into Ardyn’s shoulder without fully _realizing_ it as he climaxes. Ardyn’s breaths are breathless and broken, voice little more than a ragged growl as he fucks up he last few bits of his own pleasure into Noctis’ blissfully willing body. Noctis leaves wet tears on Ardyn’s fevered flesh, infected with demons coursing through his blood beneath the surface of his skin, too hot against his face. Ardyn is half alive, half dead. Powerful, pitiful. Dangerous, forbidden _,_ and Noctis doesn’t mind the idea of the next few months with him.

—

“I’m sure you’ve been told this before...at least, if that husband of yours is worth anything, but you’re exquisite when you come,” Ardyn says later, feeding Noctis pomegranate seeds from his fingers. They are wet and sweet, shining like jewels against the dryness of his palm. Little blood rubies that glisten like the matching sheens of sweat on their bodies, like Ardyn’s sinful lips after he’s kissed Noctis breathless. “I feel I’m a bit addicted to it...that moment when you’re most vulnerable, caught between lucidity and the place that only passion can transport you to.”

Noctis reclines back in bed - the King’s bed, so similar to the one he shares with his husband in the real world. _Real world,_ he thinks, as if his time with Ardyn isn’t _very_ much a part of his life and _very_ real.

“That moment when you are wholly and entirely _mine_ ,” Ardyn continues, suddenly beside him, behind him, all around him, pressed against him.

Noctis shivers. It’s been years, now - years of not aging, of half a year spent in Insomnia and half a year spent...elsewhere. Somewhere upside down, somewhere that is distinctly _other_. It isn’t something dreaded like it used to be, isn’t something he does only because the Astrals tell him he has to. Only his spread legs and Ardyn’s daemonic seed inside of him ensures that the Scourge’s dark tendriled fingers don’t weave their way into the fabric of Eos again but it’s something he’d do gladly even if wouldn’t help anyone but his own cockhungry self. It’s something he does because he _wants_ to, a fall from grace he’d take willingly if it meant he could feel like he does with Ardyn.

Maybe he craves the escape of being a king in name only, a king because he is Ardyn’s consort rather than one by blood, a king who has no decisions to make but how many offerings of accursed seed he draws out of Ardyn’s body on their altar of a bed. Maybe it’s a rebellion, a reclaiming of agency - he isn’t supposed to enjoy this, so he _will_. Stubborn as always, full of the fight and fire and _passion_ that both of his husbands find so appealing.

Or maybe, he thinks, he loves Ardyn in some strange, pitiful way, loves this handsome man, this healer of the people who became a disease in the name of love, who made the daemons his kin and the darkness his home. He’d been so resentful when Ardyn had captured him, _trapped_ him then, fighting against bonds of darkness and the pull of the Crystal, waiting for the moment Ignis tore the world asunder to bring him home. He had been so eager to get out of Ardyn’s clutches,

“The Astrals blessed me when they let me keep my prize.”

Ardyn looks at him as he says it, face unreadable beyond the lazy smirk he wears nearly _constantly_. Noctis knows it should bother him to be talked about this, like an accomplishment, a _trophy_ but instead of anger, it’s lust heating his skin, blushing at Ardyn’s touch. Ardyn kisses his neck, lips against the flutter or Noctis’ pulse, the motion of his throat as he swallows the tiny jewel seeds Ardyn slips past his lips: another way he claims him, another way he makes him _his_.

“How kind of them to allow me to make you mine for half of every year.”

“I’ll be yours forever,” Noctis says before he thinks better of it. Because he will, because he wants to be.

“Yes,” Ardyn croons, so reminiscent of Ignis in a way that it makes Noctis shudder. “Yes, pet, you will. Because you like the darkness, just a bit. You like that burden relieved and you just _love_ your husband, don’t you?”

 _I love you,_ he doesn’t say, because Ardyn’s tongue is thrusting so deeply into his mouth he can’t _breathe_ so instead he just melts into Ardyn’s arms and sighs into the kiss, lets the taste of expensive wine and spice fill his mouth, the taste of darkness slick and sickly sweet in Ardyn’s kiss.

 _I love you,_ he doesn’t say, because the thick girth of Ardyn’s cock is filling him up again and all he can do is nod his agreement, he _does._ All he wants to do is let go, hook his legs over Ardyn’s broad shoulders get fucked until his voice is hoarse from moaning and his cheeks are wet with tears, until his fruit-sweet lips are kissed swollen and raw from his ardent kisses.

 _I love you,_ he doesn’t say, because the way Ardyn looks at him as he fucks into him tells him that he _knows_ just how much, tells him that doesn’t _have_ to say it. Ardyn knows that he’s his king, that Noctis is his consort and this domain is _theirs._


End file.
